Envy
by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: While waiting for a train to her sister's, Rosie witnesses the reunion of Jack and Phryne, upon the dark-haired detective's return from England, and sees what she hadn't been able to see before.


To be frank, Rosie is not certain, she will ever acquire the unique taste necessary to stomach the sight of her ex-husband with the honorable Phryne Fisher, and she is not sure it is entirely necessary to do so. She simply does not see the relationship lasting beyond what it takes Phryne to satisfy whatever her latest urge is and then leave Jack blown out like the candles kept around her parlor.

She has heard too many tales - of course, the truth in some of them is what one makes of it but she digresses - of Phryne's exploits with men, and Rosie does not want Jack to be caught in the lethal crossfire, when it all goes to hell. She does not account for Phryne's actual feelings for Jack, nor does she care to acknowledge Jack's reciprocation of affection to the tall, dark lady detective.

It is far easier for her to think of what would become of Jack when it ends. Why, he'd be a wreck and in need of someone familiar to comfort him, and Rosie is quite certain she could be that person for him. She would be happy to slip into that role once more and take up the mantle of loving and devoted wife, if that is what was required to whip the Detective Inspector back into shape.

Rosie is not terribly sensitive to how that makes her look. An ex-wife wanting nothing more than to steal her ex-husband away for herself, to see his new love crash and burn, so that she can swoop in and have him to herself once more. She was never the most cognizant creature, rarely considering the consequences before she spoke, and it had made for some particularly vicious fights with Jack.

It broke them, if she is to be completely honest.

Perhaps, things were already on a downhill slope when he returned from France, but they could have fought their way back up, had she just stopped to think about what she was saying. Had she just stopped to realize that a man does not return from war in tact. There were parts of Jack lost in the primal carnage, parts of his mind irreparably damaged by the things he'd seen, and parts of him that only Phryne seemed to understand, having been in France at around the same time as an ambulance driver.

Instead, she'd picked him apart, made him into a monster, and then divorced him when he retreated because of what would have amounted to verbal abuse if the tables were turned. When it'd become painfully obvious she could not help, or fix him, instead of trying harder, or seeking resources to help them cope, she'd beat him down and then tossed him aside like the newspapers donated to fish markets for sellers to wrap their fish in.

Now, she lays in wait, hoping Phryne will do the same thing.

And, for what? So, she can indulge some selfish desire to have the woman experience what she did when she lost Jack? So, she can indulge that part of her that wants to fix him? That wants to do everything she should have done before, without realizing that the damage would be three-fold what it was the first time. The war and two broken relationships would mean more for her to cope with and she could barely deal with the war, the first go 'round. What would watching Phryne break him ever accomplish? _If_ Phryne were to break him.

Regret is such a bitter pill to swallow.

Especially when he is pacing on the platform next to hers at the train station. (She well thought a trip to her sister's might clear her mind of the intrusive nature of Jack Robinson but no such luck). She really hopes to avoid being seen - after all, she is just on her way to family - and instead, hopes for the opportunity to observe him. There's a certain anxiety about him, a pull to his shoulders that suggest he's looking to impress, and a nervous twitch in the way he rubs at his chin. He's waiting for someone, but she can't say who it could be.

Phryne, perhaps?

But, where would Phryne have run off too that would have him waiting so anxiously? It doesn't really matter, she supposes, Jack is no longer her concern. Or, at least, she tries to keep him from mind, as futile as her efforts prove. And, she's sort of grateful that a young man, who is clearly just an errand boy, comes up to deliver the news that there's been a delay while they repair the tracks. She can avert her gaze from Jack before she is spotted and the delay might provide her the opportunity to see who he seems to be waiting for.

She receives her answer a mere five minutes later when two excited voices chorus, "Jack!" "Inspector!"

And, she sees it.

His face nearly cracks clean in two from the ferocity of the grin that has overtaken his usual hard expression and in the next moment, the arms of a young blonde are wrapped around his waist and Phryne's slipping her arms around both the girl and Jack, smiling happily when he strokes the girl's hair and presses his hand against Phryne's back to encourage her closer.

To steal a kiss, Rosie notes. It's chaste but certainly not lacking tenderness and it takes all of her willpower to look away, to not remember the matching looks of bliss on Jack and Phryne's faces when it's over, to not burn this image of a happy family into her brain. After exchanging an intimate greeting with Phryne, he leans down to kiss the blonde head of the girl still glued to his front. She looks up at him with the same admiration and eagerness, you expect from a daughter looking to her father for attention.

"I've missed you," Jack smiles at her, lifting his eyes to the raven-haired lady detective watching the tender interaction. "Both of you."

"Oh Jack, we've missed you." Phryne breathes, seeming to melt into him. The happy voice floats on the cool autumn breeze, soft but audible.

She doesn't quite catch what he says but he turns their little group and points to where a younger couple wait by a car, pleased smiles on their faces. The girl rushes them and gleefully flings herself into the woman's waiting arms, swept happily up into a welcome home embrace. But, that is not where Rosie lets her attention wander. She keeps her curious gaze on Jack and Phryne. It's obvious that the lady detective is seeking solace in the inspector, just by the way she's moved around to press herself into Jack, locking her arms around his shoulders and nuzzling her face into his neck. For his part, he seems completely comfortable with this very public display of affection.

It occurs to Rosie that she'd never gotten so much as a hand-hold out of him when they had to appear together in public. Occasionally she could curl her hand around the bend of his elbow, appearing over his shoulder as the demure and quiet wife that society expected; not at all indicative of her bratty behavior in the privacy of their home.

But here he is with Phryne, one hand curled around the extended joint where shoulder met arm, and the other stroking her back. She can't quite hear what is it said but she can see Phryne's shuddering and how Jack shifts to almost curl around her even more so than he already was as if to shield her from the world. Whatever was the matter?

In the few - admittedly chilly - interactions, she'd had with her, the Honorable Phryne Fisher had seemed composed and collected. Now, though, it seemed as if the world is crushing her under its immense weight. She'd heard through the grapevine that her father - a baron - had something to do with it, and she'd had to fly him back to wherever he came from on her private plane. How true that was, Rosie couldn't really say. The truth is so often mangled by the time it reaches her.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

After the fall of her father and Sidney, it would seem as though Rosie Sanderson was no longer welcome in the circles she used to frequent. Gossip is no longer something she is privy to first, instead having to wait until it travels down a long line of women and one of them fills her in.

" - you're home, now." a just audible rumble of assurance, of relieving her of the weight that seemed to be forever crushing Phryne. "It's alright, love, you're home, now."

"- father - Jane - sister - hurts, Jack." are the only words of Phryne's response Rosie can hear clearly.

She watches the shift of Jack's entire body, stance widening, shoulders moving and his palms finding Phryne's cheeks, thumbs sweeping under her eyes. Tender. Affectionate. _Loving. _And, Miss Fisher calms almost instantly, leaning into the touch, and letting Jack soothe her, however he saw fit. Which, for Jack and Phryne, touch and body language seems to be their preferred communication, Rosie has noticed. Whether it be a shared look, shifting to adjust for the other, or a gentle touch to her arm when he needs her attention. She touches his shoulder to comfort him, to let him know he has a safe place in her.

And, just like the pieces fall into place.

The foundation of friendship, the silent communication, the ability to comfort and soothe without having to ask what the other needs - it's all there. Rosie was just too blinded by her selfishness to see it before. Too blinded by what she thought was love for Jack to see what should have been so obvious.

Phryne is Jack's adventure, his moral compass going slightly askew in the name of investigation and maybe, a little trouble, if he's feeling indulgent. She is where he finds the world. Jack is Phryne's home. He's stable, comfortable, and she doesn't doubt for a second whether or not she'll find what she needs. A warm hand in hers, arms around her in a soothing hug, or a soft kiss when she feels her world is falling apart. He is where she finds safety and peace.

But, she'd been looking at them with green eyes, with an envy laced perspective, and through that lens, she only saw what would have _her _desired outcome. Now, that she's here and what she's witnessing is more than just Phryne's attempt to bed another man, or Jack comforting another crying woman, she sees things clearly. She sees what she should have seen from the beginning - she sees the love.

And, she knows.

She lost.


End file.
